


Every Rose

by CescaLR



Series: Every Rose Has It's Thorns. [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Supernatural
Genre: (but like you know where that goes), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Dad!Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, F/M, Gen, I have watched up to s3 but I've heavily spoiled myself so i could Research, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Post-Season/Series 05 AU, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, also? love that the first tag is a thing, and by up to s3 i mean ep 2 so like... sorry anyway, anyway... dean has a kid, idk - Freeform, lbr, said kid is Athena's kid, so like i hope it's fine, that's the premise, until like s6??? maybe??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27485185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: Athena feels drawn to these people, and she's not entirely sure why.
Relationships: Athena & Dean Winchester, Athena & Sam Winchester, Athena/Dean Winchester, Ben Braeden & Dean Winchester, Ben Braeden & Lisa Braeden & Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester & Original Winchester Character(s), Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Lisa Braeden & Dean Winchester, Lisa Braeden & Rose Taylor Dean, Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Rose Taylor Dean & Dean Winchester & Lisa Braeden
Series: Every Rose Has It's Thorns. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014618
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Every Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Athena is sapio-wants-kids basically... why she gotta be a kinda deadbeat mum tho

People often forget aspects of herself, Athena knows. It helps, she supposes, that her chosen mortals are, these days, rarely any kind of _active_ warrior. The people she chooses are scholars, because – of course they would be. She is the goddess of _wisdom._

But people forget the other things.

Athena is the goddess of wisdom. Civilization, mathematics, crafts, the arts.

She is _also_ the goddess of defensive warfare. The goddess of skill. And people always forget her designation –

She is a goddess of _war._

* * *

She meets the younger one, first. Athena likes to wander from campus to campus, mingle with the bright young minds of the current generation. She hears innovation on the wind, feels change buffet her hair as the breeze wafts through it. She sees ambition on the edges of smiles, notes ideas burgeoning in thoughts on brainwaves invisible to the eye. Athena frequents certain Universities more than others, she will admit. It draws more people of her ilk to these places, draws more artists and masters and inventors to these same grounds.

Athena likes Stanford. She’s not entirely sure why, out of all the universities, it is this one that draws her, at least at this moment in history.

The mortal she takes a shine to is young, she thinks. He’s an interesting one, in the sense that he is a sort of puzzle. The mist doesn’t cover his eyes, and though like many who have that particular talent the young one doesn’t pretend his eyes skirt over the same things his friends do, the same things the young ingénue (ah, she’s been spending too much time around Aphrodite, it seems) his eyes linger on can’t see. 

He’s a smart one, she thinks. Dedicated. It is not him that draws her, exactly. Athena has never been wholly certain – and her fellow Olympian keeps her mouth firmly closed – if Aphrodite has any effect on her fellow gods. It would make sense, Athena supposes, as she watches the young man fumble with his words as he talks to the pretty blonde, as his eyes skate over her face and catch, unerringly, on the Cyclops stood in the alleyway across the street, just beyond the edge of the campus.

Athena raises an eyebrow at the creature. Posiedon really should learn to throw those things in the forges – she doesn’t _appreciate_ them encroaching on her hallowed land. Any form of educational centre – a _home_ for _knowledge_ – is her’s. Only her monsters should be here.

Still.

Athena looks back to the floppy-haired young mortal. He’s gangly in his tallness, 6-foot-4 on the dot, and intelligent. But it is not _him_ that draws her to him. It is curious. In the olden days, she muses, she would patron him, at least, she thinks. But her temples lie in ruin, and patron gods are scoffed at as _ignorance,_ these days.

Athena finds mortal denial rather amusing, in that dangerous way a deity’s amusement can be an erupting volcano, or a failed university application, or a cruise ship sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Sometimes Athena finds her anger fraying at the edges, and an entire school system lowers it’s results by a grade for five years before she regains control. It is not entirely their fault, she thinks. It was necessary. As populations grew, as pantheons started to intersect, overlap – they could not hold onto what had worked in the past. Distance had been necessary. Moving with the dominant western culture had been _survival._

It did not mean it had been pretty. And Athena never liked the idea that there was something higher, something _more,_ never liked the reminders of other groups. **_Minerva_** had made her…

Volatile.

In that regard.

But it isn’t just the scent of _other_ on the Boy that draws her, she thinks. Not the influence of the Abraham **_child’s_** God‘s ‘ _plan’_ heavy on his shoulders. It isn’t his intelligence innately, she knows, because everyone – _everyone –_ has some form of understanding to their name, no matter how little. Athena has always been more impressed by ingenuity than basic knowledge. Always preferred those more driven, those more daring, those more sure, those more –

Well. She’s a warrior goddess for a _reason._ And if she weren’t a virgin goddess, if she weren’t, as they put it, ‘asexual’, you could say Athena would have a ‘competence kink’. Athena finds much more entertainment in the human languages than you’d perhaps assume of her. It’s amusing – in the ‘no erupting volcanos’ way. In the way that brings a small chuckle out of her, as she shakes her head, turns on her heel, and from one step to the next is stood on the other side of the country.

* * *

One day, Athena is sat in the library. She is listening to the woman on the other side of the bookshelf working through her astro-physics coursework, and it is a soothing sort of comfort, tuning into knowledge well-worn and well-trodden by the mind that works over it, irons it out, lays it down onto paper through pen and hand and muscle and signals from the brain, and round again, a cycle.

The Boy drops down onto the desk opposite her. Athena offers him a mild smile. She has taken on the appearance of a student here, today, and hadn’t quite realised it was Stanford’s library she was sat in, but that is no matter. He can see her – the first time she has allowed him to do so – and he offers a tight smile back. There are purple shadows under his eyes. Athena can see the signs of a deadline coming up.

Athena goes back to listening, though she summons a bag under the table and conjures up a book from within, which she takes out and places on the solid, hard-wood surface (excellent craftsmanship – simple and purposeful, and Athena has always preferred a little flair in her furniture, but that’s just the Artist aspect of herself speaking) to pretend a little normalcy, so The Boy doesn’t get too suspicious. He may know what goes bump in the night – but it will take some time to parse out his thoughts, his fears and understandings enough to know if a Goddess would break him.

And besides. Athena wants no children from this one. And while a Patron Goddess is a thing of the past, it is not like Athena has not supported her Chosen before. Leonardo Da Vinci comes to mind. Albert Einstein.

Yes, yes. Not _every single influential intelligent person in history is her child._ Athena gets tired of hearing that from _everyone._

Suffice to say – look for the ones whose mothers aren’t known. And there you go.

Athena sighs, to continue the mortal ruse. She flips a page. There is a young man working on a novel on the other desk. He’s going into far more detail than necessary about an appendix surgery, and Athena smiles in amusement. _Humans._

The Boy flips through his books, laid out in front of him for research purposes. He’s got a notebook and clean, lined, a4 paper situated beneath his hands. There are a few sheets of clean, neatly-written-on, lined, a4 pieces of paper to the right. He’s halfway through, she thinks, and benevolently she nudges him a little closer to a connection it would have taken him _just_ a little too long to make. He’ll hit the deadline now, and won’t have to go through the process of asking for an extension.

Athena shakes her head at her book. It’s the little things, she thinks. They can’t interfere with their children. It is why she interferes with everyone else.

* * *

Sam, she finds, is the younger one’s name.

“Sam,” The pretty blonde girl he’s constantly giving _those_ eyes to, eyes that say ‘I could live with you for eternity and never get bored’, is what she calls The Boy one day.

Athena rolls it around in her head. Sam. Samuel. _Samuel William Winchester._ Probably. It sings with truth in her head, so Athena will trust what she’s gleaned from the Girl’s head.

It’s a warm day. The Boy – Sam – has been at Stanford for – a year or so, Athena thinks. He looks grouchy. She hasn’t been by in a little while.

The last time Athena had listened in, she’d heard something about a brother. Older or younger, she wasn’t certain. The Goddess could glean it from his head, or from the Girl’s head, of course. But she decided not to, because the conversation seemed to be leading in that way, regardless.

“… I guess I’m just worried,” Drifts over. They are on the other side of the courtyard. Athena is sat on a bench with a book on neuroscience, to seem busy and human in case any eyes were to actually perceive her.

“We… had a fight, I guess,” Sam sighs. “And I – said some things. And he said some things. And I haven’t heard from him in a few months.”

The Girl – Jessica, Athena gleans, from a thought that wanders out of Sam’s mind – places a hand on his arm and squeezes, light. “I’m sure he’s fine,” Jessica says. “Pest Control isn’t the most dangerous family business, and he’s with your dad.”

Sam presses his lips together. “Yeah,” He sighs. Athena wrinkles her nose, the stench of lies on top of lies on top of lies following along beside the carbon dioxide.

Interesting. She tilts her head.

“He’s _Dean Winchester,”_ Jessica says, “From all the stories you’ve told me – including the time he broke himself out of lock-up when he was fifteen – I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Athena raises an eyebrow. She clucks her tongue disapprovingly at the misbehaviour but is somewhat impressed despite herself. _Humans._ Wily creatures. **Especially** teenagers.

“When did I tell you about that?” Sam asks, tone surprisingly sharp.

She rolls her eyes. “You were drunk,” the Girl - _Jessica Lee Moore_ _-_ tells him.

* * *

Athena hears nothing of the older Winchester for three more years. It is nearing the time for Sam to go to law school when she even remembers he exists. Three years. Two months. It takes less than a nanosecond to calculate how long it’s been since Sam last had contact with his brother.

Athena stays on campus when they leave. She shadows Jessica, for a time. The Girl is an interesting one. Vibrant. Athena can see the fates across the street while she’s sat in a café, and sighs.

Jessica Lee Moore, she thinks, could have really been something.

The fire on the ceiling, however, was not quite what she expected. Perhaps the fates are getting a little bored? But it’s not quite that, Athena thinks, as she watches Thanatos’ influence take hold of Jessica Lee Moore. That was a _demon._ Not a monster. It was not of her domain. And yet, still, Athena finds herself making note of the man what did it.

Athena is not a fan of these developments.

And she will remember the name _Brady._ Along with the demon that took his face. A curse, she thinks, her ever burning streak of righteous anger, desire for _vengeance_ flaring up. These mortals are _her_ amusements. Jessica Moore could have _been something._ And the Winchester brothers…

Well. Athena still isn’t sure. But she certainly doesn’t want a lowly creature of a practically _new-born faith_ to interfere with her – **compulsion** _._ Whatever it is that draws her to these two; that drew her to watch over Sam, that drew her to consider Dean…

Athena just hopes it’s not something too nefarious. Prophecies are messy. Mixing theologies is messier.

* * *

Athena keeps her presence hidden, for the most part. She is not sure why, again. What she thinks she is accomplishing. But the _stench_ of demonic energy surrounds the young Winchester, and the older one remains oblivious. The visions are something. Athena is not sure what, but the longer it all goes on, the worse the smell gets.

It ends up being a bit too much. Athena avoids Sam, at that point. But she does not avoid Dean.

If you would ask her, she would say it is simple, intellectual curiosity. Even in all her years here, on this damned continent, far away from her homeland, Athena has not come across many of the creatures of God. And she will admit, the name rankles. God. _God._ Like it is the only one. Bah. The _arrogance._ He is a _rank, **arrogant child,**_ and Athena can do… specifically nothing at all about it. It is out of her jurisdiction. Her preview. Like all the other beings are.

Athena cannot interfere. And yet, here she is. Sat, in a diner. Athena has never much liked diners – too many of them are monster chains, and it’s always aggravating to have to leave because a Hydra popped up out of nowhere – and this one is no exception. Athena, being a goddess, is not a fan (or even really capable) of ingesting human foodstuffs, but everything in hear stinks of prolong death. The fact that Dean packs it away like it’s nothing despite the eventual effect it will have on his heart is somewhat disturbing. Athena wonders if he knows about cholesterol. But that’s silly, because of course he does – Sam reminds him about healthy eating quite often. The Goddess thinks – Dean is not a simple creature, but he takes joy in simple pleasures.

They are not in the business of pest control, Athena knows. _Hunting._ This man, his father, and sam – ostensibly – are _hunters._ Humans that do the job of demigods, because Abraham’s God decided _not_ to do the sensible thing and foist that on the Nephilim.

Bah. Athena will never understand opting _against_ a pantheon. It just makes delegation so much easier.

Dean is at the diner alone today. Well, not alone, he’s chatting up a young woman maybe a year his junior, and she’s all batting-eyelashes and adjusted cleavage. It’s vaguely amusing, the human mating rituals she’s privy to, right here in broad daylight in this diner in the middle of small-town America.

Dean is supposed to be getting information, she thinks. And he is; each flirtatious remark leads onto a question, and the girl is spilling more useful information about the Hunt than she knows she is. Dean leaves the diner with a number and a name, because he _thinks_ he’s got the creature down.

Athena nudges, just a little, a connection left loose, and he changes his mind about what they’re looking for. He’s been at this for years, she can tell. Athena wonders how much his childhood resembles that of one of their soldiers.

The other Olympians might dress it up nicely, soften the blow, call them heroes – but that’s not true. Ares calls their children warriors. Athena calls them soldiers.

It’s an endless war, against the tide. The Pit is everlasting. Their children are not. Futile, but fervent, forever permanent.

Athena sighs, and takes a sip of her nectar, disguised as black coffee. If she follows Dean she will simply find Sam, and though she is immortal the bile rises up in the back of her throat all the same, so she wanders out the door and finds herself stood in Stanford.

Athena wanders the campus. She finds the Demon in Sam’s Brady. It is _unfair,_ she thinks, even as the thought amuses her. Since when has the world been fair? Athena knows it is not. The only thing fair in the world is cool logic. Mathematics is fair. People are not. And demons, _especially,_ are the opposite.

“Hello, Brady,” Athena smiles at the body, glares at the demon residing within. “I heard about your friends.”

“Yeah,” Brady says, dragging a shaking hand down his face. It’s a good sell. Pity Athena is a Goddess. She could smite him down where he stands – and she should, for the insult of killing a girl she might have Chosen – but she will not. There is more to this than she can understand.

This is not her jurisdiction, Athena reminds herself. And Abraham’s God didn’t work with prophecies, no, nothing so _malleable._ He worked with a Plan.

Athena sniffs, mentally. Well, _damn_ that Plan. Athena knows what it is, and frankly she _also_ knows that – for Chaos’ sake – God didn’t even put in any loopholes.

Athena wants to talk to God.

* * *

God is not here.

Athena sighs. Or if he is, he is too hard for her to find. Athena must admit – she is stronger than these angels, lowly creatures as they are, not _Gods,_ not on that level, because God had been an egotist and refused for anyone to be his equal – and, there her pride goes again.

Hubris. It is the most common flaw her children possess. Athena is aware that is because it’s her’s. Along with Wrath – Medusa and Arachne can tell you that much. But she may be a goddess, and even goddesses can be young once. Imagine a teenager with all the power in the world, and all the lack of empathy, and you’ll have your reasons for Athena’s past behaviour.

Her current behaviour, she thinks ruefully, has not been much better. Here she is, interfering with what is not her’s to interfere with.

Athena should step back, she decides. Just for a moment.

* * *

Sam dies. Athena finds Dean, as customary, in a diner, in the middle of nowhere. He has not bought himself a burger, or a pie, or anything to consume, but Athena can sense the human need for sustenance tugging painfully at his stomach.

She nudges him, gently, with the knowledge of starvation, a quiet reminder. It lingers and festers in his mind, and he doesn’t budge.

She can see, in his mind, a Crossroads.

Athena thinks of how this is supposed to go. She is not a goddess of prophecy, but she is not stupid. The demon on Sam is strong, and it is not on him, but _in_ him. And there is something… brighter, about Dean.

Athena sighs. She detests reading about other ‘religions’, but sometimes unwanted work must be done.

* * *

It takes time, for Athena to digest everything. The next time she finds herself watching over the Winchester Brothers, she is stood in a suburban backyard, while Dean is standing near a boy that very much resembles him but is not his son.

The thought drifts across Dean’s mind that _he could be_ , and Athena finds herself reaching further, just a little, and sees how _desperately_ Dean longs for family. Athena looks, and she can see, Sam is not quite his brother. Your brother does not raise you. Your brother is not the one that takes you to school in the morning and picks you up in the afternoon. Your brother is not the one that calms you down after a nightmare, is not the one that brings money home, is not the one that makes you breakfast lunch and dinner every day for your childhood and most of your teenage years, is not the one that checks up on you and makes sure you’re okay at college, isn’t the one that worries when you leave the nest to strike out on your own.

That is a _parent’s_ job. Dean was a father long before he was anything else, Athena thinks. And he was a _good_ one.

… Athena rarely manages to pick good ones.

Dean is good, with the boy, _Ben._ He is good with the other children, when they save them.

He is dying, Athena can see. Can see the air hovering around him, waiting. Thanatos is watching. Athena doesn’t like to think about it much – but Death, he is… the same. Thanatos is always more a mixture of his selves than he is himself.

Athena doesn’t want to see it, she realises. Or, rather, she can’t find herself _accepting_ it. And this happens _all the time,_ in her own ‘Mythology’, does it not?

Athena is not sure the Christians do it the same. If Abraham’s God is so kind as to give the option in the way Orpheus was offered.

* * *

Athena poses as a witness, in their next hunt. Sam is still somewhat repulsive, a lingering thing, so she grimaces at him mentally and hopes it does not show on her face. She is a librarian, around their age, and when posing as a mortal she always feels safer with a knife strapped to her thigh.

That is the _war_ aspect of herself shining through, she thinks. She cuts her finger on a piece of paper as she turns a page in the logbook, carefully giving the Brothers information, ignores the red that spills forth.

“Ouch,” Sam says for her. Athena remembers to fake pain, and winces excessively. She does not do this ruse as often, these days. Time is… diluted differently, for immortal beings. The war between her children feels like it happened yesterday, and she is cautious to pretend mortality because of it. Cautious to sire more children, though she does. Athena cannot leave her cabin empty. She is too prideful for that.

She also cannot play favourites. Three of her children call out to her, sleeping soundly in the Hermes cabin each night, and she does not, will not, _cannot_ respond. If she claims them all, then the other gods –

Well. It would not be a smart move, on her part. Keeping herself and her children safe is one of her main goals, Athena can freely admit. If she must leave a few unanswered prayers, then _so be it._ Athena is known to claim all her children at birth. But for the sake of the stability of her godly family – she cannot.

Athena extracts a plaster from a suddenly appearing box beneath the desk, places it with precision on the papercut. Dean distraction-flirts, and it’s as calculated as always. Not that his flirting is always distraction-flirting. Bluntly: he has a lot of sex. But distraction-flirting is always calculated. He knows she knows more than she’s letting on.

Well, Athena can’t help that. She’s the goddess of _wisdom._ She **always** knows more than she’s letting on. He has good instincts, though. The older brother is much smarter than he thinks he is – or rather, she guesses, he’d like to let on.

The repurposed Walkman is still incredibly engaging. She wonders how he did it, even though she could know without really having to consider it – she wants to hear his thought processes. Athena wonders what sort of things he could talk through for hours on end. She wants to know, for certain, that what’s drawing her to him, through Sam, is what has drawn her to all the parents of her children, through the years. Because he is a good father. And he is devoted, intensely, to family. And he is trained – Athena would not have to worry overmuch about her child getting to camp with a Hunter for a father.

It’s… something to think about. Athena always takes the person into consideration before she follows through. Half the time, her judgements ring true.

The problem, Athena knows, is that she is not human. A human would likely think this man too dangerous, but all her children lead dangerous lives. A human would think him too flighty – Athena would rather her child not to have to worry, too much, about family. She is their mother, and selfishly, a tendency to forgo committed relationships is preferable, in her mortals. A father, an uncle, a grandfather, and herself, a goddess. That’s more than enough family to have to consider, and not too much to put her off. A human would think him incapable – that human would be _stupid,_ Athena decides, because he is not. Athena hates to compare herself to her brother, but she is somewhat similar to his counterpart Mars, in some respects. Mars likes military women. Athena likes military men. (And women, of course, and it’s not like Mars has never gained progeny through a man, but the process is more complicated and frankly, more annoying, so he does not tend to. It is the same process regarding both men and women, for Athena, however, so her preference tends towards a more balanced scale. Plus, she doesn’t have to worry about infertility.)

Athena takes his distraction-flirting with amused reciprocation, giving him the information he thinks she has that she hasn’t told them.

They go on their way, and Athena remembers this face, so she won’t use it again around them.

* * *

Athena decides – well, it will not be the first time one of her children has grown without their mortal parent. That is the fate of many demigods, and sometimes – sometimes Athena cannot let go of her mortals. If Dean is to die – then he is to die with _legacy._ With something left behind.

He has a year, she thinks.

So, _she_ has a year.

* * *

Athena runs her hands through her curls, inspects her appearance. Mortal. Perfectly aligned features. She has done the calculations. Athena’s face is 88% towards being perfectly symmetrical. She has, however, stronger features; a squarer jaw, lower eyebrows. It is to allow for genetic error. No human face is perfect. She has a small nose, upturned. Almond eyes, stormy grey as always. A cupid’s bow mouth, a nod to Aphrodite’s likely, if tight-lipped, involvement in all this. People forget how _broad_ love is, as a domain. Athena loves her children. Loves those that uphold the values of her jurisdiction.

Athena is the goddess of skill. Dean is nothing if not skilled.

Athena is a war goddess. Dean is, in all his everything, a man built for _war._

And, well. If he _does_ live through it, his soul sent to damnation, The Righteous Man will have something to hold onto.

(Athena was always a sucker for great, smart, warriors.)

(Especially if they needed her guidance. If she had to help draw their intelligence out, into the limelight. To show them just how much they could _be.)_

* * *

Athena bumps into them, deliberately, in Cicero, Indiana.

They are on a case, of course. She tells them the same. She is a hunter. She is not new. She handles weapons with military precision, because Athena helped invent half of these. Defensive warfare, she thinks, and looks askance at Dean.

Protecting people. It’s what they do.

It’s what _he_ does.

A man has died. In this mortal shell, Athena had not sensed it. She brushes the curls aside, again, as she maintains her shotgun. Not her usual style, but she has a vaguely Texan accent in this form, and shotguns are good for rock salt blasts. With that sort of thing, you just have to hit, not aim with precision.

She’s done her research.

A few comments, here and there. Athena sends a missive Iris’ way, and a few minutes later – lazy hippie – Iris sends the voicemail to Dean, about other hunters in the area, voice and inflections and language and everything exactly mimicked from Bobby.

Dean relaxes. Athena keeps herself tense, until they’ve dealt with the situation, and then gives her mortal form leave to loosen its shoulders.

Wearing a shell is always an annoyance. But with some of her mortals, it is required. She is not a virgin goddess through no effort, after all. Sometimes, to woo the men (or women) she requires for her children, a shell must provide the means. Athena simply… removes herself to Olympus, for the duration, keeping her mind linked so the child can occur, but herself wholly separate.

In a godly sense, it _makes_ sense. For a mortal, the whole thing is rather too 4-dimensional.

Athena leans against the wall behind the pool table, smirking behind a glass of whisky. Dean is hustling pool, and she finds amusement in watching the others miss his blatant cheating.

For a – or _the –_ Righteous Man, he has some less than moral tendencies.

* * *

Athena keeps bumping into them, deliberately, in her mortal shell. She keeps to Dean, when she can, because whatever drew her to Sam has faded. And perhaps – she is wary of him. What Azazel wanted from The Boy.

The Boy _King,_ she corrects, absently. It is linked to the other fates weaved into his tapestry, Athena thinks. The older brother, a soldier. Like Michael who came before.

Nine months, she thinks, and decides to be kind.

* * *

Bobby Singer finds a baby on his doorstep.

A baby.

On his doorstep.

Dean Winchester is dead. Sam is nowhere to be found, and there is a baby. On his doorstep.

Bobby looks suspiciously at the baby.

The baby looks suspiciously up at him, stormy grey eyes far too intelligent for a human it’s age.

They suspiciously stare at each other. The baby giggles, shoves it’s thumb into it’s mouth. Helpfully, the baby is swaddled in a pink… swaddle. There is a note on the floor next to it.

Bobby had woken up. At 2 in the morning. And wandered outside, for reasons unkown. And there was a baby. With a note.

_The life of a hunter can be a lot. It takes a lot out of everyone. I don’t have many – or any – people of my own, or a place. It’s been a while since I had contact with the boys, and I’m not sure if they’d have mentioned me._

_There is a vial of Dean’s hair in the swaddle, if you deem my paternity test unsubstantial. I understand the paranoia. Lot’s of things can hide as children._

_But this is a child._

_My child._

_Dean’s child._

_And I can’t think of anyone else to send her to._

_I wasn’t sure what to name her. I heard Dean died. I’m sorry. Truly. I never got to tell him about her. There was never any time. She’s a year old, or so. I had to… I had to admit to myself that I – I can’t. It’s not safe, on the road. And you aren’t on the road, but you know the life._

_And Dean died._

_I’m probably going to, as well. Isn’t that what this life gives us?_

_Look after my daughter, Bobby Singer. Dean spoke highly of you. If you do not…_

_Well. If she is not safe, then neither are you._

_I hope this letter finds you well._

  * _Athena_



_Ps. If you cannot look after her, there is a camp. In Long Island Sound. Camp-Half Blood._

Bobby folds the letter. He looks at the child. The child looks back at him. This nameless, fatherless, motherless child. He picks up the baby, and finds the vial in the folds of the swaddle.

He looks at the baby. Grey eyes. No hair, yet, or maybe the slightest bit of the finest blonde. She’s quiet in his arms.

Aw, hells.

That fucking _ijit._

* * *

Athena smiles, as she watches Bobby grumble his way through the paternity test. His paranoia will keep her daughter safe, she thinks. So long as he can stand to have her around, she will be safe. Athena knows – there are things… brewing. The Great Prophecy still lies in the balance. She should not have… crossed things over. Drawn the lines too closely together. But Athena has done this before, with surety, she knows, thinking of Annabeth.

Frederick had been _important._

It doesn’t – didn’t – feel the same way, with Dean. But looking at her daughter, Athena thinks:

It’s likely just as monumental.

(Though, Athena will admit in private – she could have dealt with handing Annabeth over a lot better than she did.)

(However, that hadn’t stopped her from not warning Dean about their child-to-be, now, had it?)

Thoughts of Annabeth remind her of where her daughter is now: the Sea of Monsters.

Foolish. But necessary. Like everything else those children have done so far, she thinks wryly. Her distraction sends her awareness back to Olympus, and then she grimaces at the shouting match she is immediately drawn into.

Ah, her family never changes, does it.

* * *

Sam is gone, the next time Dean visits Lisa Braeden.

He does not, however, arrive alone.

Lisa is more than surprised to see Dean with a little girl, but then, she thinks wryly, is she really?

She had a _type,_ Lisa reminds herself. And it seems, foolishly, her heart still does.

Lisa lets him stay. And its easy, to fall into a life with him. His daughter is called Deanna, which takes a little explaining. She also doesn’t _like_ Deanna – Dean, _it’s dean –_ and that’s a little frustrating, but what can you do.

Dean, Lisa finds out, haltingly, over a bottle one evening, had been dead. Bobby Singer, another Hunter, had named her, mostly by accident.

“ _Dean’s Daughter,”_ Dean parrots, looking annoyed. “Guess the old man just wanted to… I dunno.”

“Her mother didn’t…?”

“Just a note,” Dean growls, low. Lisa knows how much he cares about family. Ben isn’t his son, but it’s not an uncommon thought of hers, since that fateful day – to wish that he was.

“Dean could be her surname?” Lisa offers.

“… Hmm.” Dean hums. “Not like Athena ever game me one.”

“There you go then,” Lisa says, simply. “Maybe we should help her pick out a name she likes?”

“Yeah,” He runs a hand down his face. He’s… tired, lately. Subdued. It’s the grief, she thinks. His brother, his father, everything. Gone. Lisa – Lisa wonders if… sometimes, she wonders – if his daughter is the only thing that kept him holding on.

Rose Taylor Dean, it ends up being, because Rose is _pretty,_ Taylor is _cool,_ and _Her name is Dean!_

It takes a few months, but she ends up not minding ‘nicknames’ of Rose, Rosie, Taylor, and Tay.

It’s unconventional. Dean Thomas Campbell. Lisa Braeden. Ben Braeden. Rose Taylor Dean.

But then, Lisa knows, what else about her whole _life_ has been conventional?

* * *

There is a woman working at the library that seems oddly familiar, though Lisa can’t place her. Lisa finds herself making quite a few trips, here, thanks to Deannie’s (It’s the one concession Lisa gives on _My name’s Dean!_ Because calling Dean’s daughter the same name as Dean just _doesn’t work,_ and the little girl is starting to get it, slowly) voracious love of inhaling every book she can find.

On mechanics.

She likes cars.

Lisa didn’t know what else she expected, really.

It’s a phase, she thinks, _probably,_ or at least her sincere obsession with it right now is a phase, though with Dean for a dad she’s not ever going to fall out of love with the vehicles. Last month she was really into dinosaurs. Next month might be space. The month before it was pirates.

Dean’s genes must be pretty strong, Lisa thinks wryly, as she finds Rose reading a comic book with a cowboy plastered on the front.

“Hey, honey,” Lisa says, tapping her on the shoulder. “Time’s up.”

Rose sighs, long-sufferingly, closes the comic book and puts it on the shelf. In the back. Behind a bunch of shiny new ones that seemingly nobody has any interest in. Rose jumps up, grabs the pile of books next to her, and scrambles on over to the front desk.

The woman on duty has curly hair, a square jaw. Her eyes are crystalline blue, and Lisa isn’t sure why she looks familiar.

“That’s quite a lot of books, young one,” The librarian says. She looks about twenty-five, so Lisa’s not sure why she sounds about eighty. Not in voice – no – but in… tone? Expression?

“Nope!” Rosie says, cheerfully. “I can read this in, like, two days.”

If she didn’t sleep, she could read it. Lisa sighs. She’s going to have to check into her bedroom tonight. Or Dean can do it. Yeah, she’ll get Dean to do it. Dean likes to do it anyway – Lisa forgets sometimes that things can live in children’s closets. A shiver runs down her spine, and she remembers one of their earlier arguments.

Dean’s arsenal.

See, part of the problem of Dean, is that Dean Winchester should be dead. A dead serial killer. On the FBI’s most wanted list.

Lisa had wanted to shut the door in his face when she’d seen him show up on her doorstep out of the blue. But then, she’d gotten a good look at his face. And he’d saved her son, her neighbourhood, but most importantly _her son,_ so she let him inside. And Ben had heard the commotion and he loved Dean, and Rosie was a rambunctious little kiddo, so the whole evening got derailed. It wasn’t’ until the two children were put to bed in the wee hours of the morning that Lisa finally found the time to speak to Dean, but he’d just looked so _lost_ that she’d dragged him curled up next to her on the couch, his head tucked onto her shoulder, and he’d pretty much passed out on the spot.

But a week later, when it was all new, she’d found the arsenal in the back of the impala. And it was _worrying._ It was every kind of weapon you could think of. And it was illegal. Dean carried a firearm on his person at all times, she knew, she’d spotted the gleam of metal when the back of his t-shirt or his jacket moved. He just had the damned thing shoved in the back of his trousers like that was any kind of _safe,_ he didn’t have a conceal-to-carry permit or anything, because he was legally dead and a criminal. In the eyes of the _FBI._

So she’d been worried. And it had been a _blowout,_ nothing like she’d ever had before, not really. The last big argument she could remember was – well, a while ago. But this was more than that.

He was scared. He still is scared. Lisa thinks he might be scared all the time. He lost Sam, he lost his dad, he lost – so much shit, and then he had a little girl dumped on his lap and – what? What was he supposed to do?

So he came to the only person he could think of. Lisa was a single parent. Lisa had a house. Lisa had a normal life.

Lisa could _teach him how to have a normal life._ With a daughter. And a house. And they are decently compatible people, Lisa knows. It’s a safe bet. It’s a good bet. Ben gets a little sister, which he _adores,_ because – somehow, he takes after Dean. _Somehow._ And her little boy has the protective instincts of a big brother – now that has an outlet. It fits. It all fits, smoothly, and she doesn’t know how they did it. Three months, and it feels like forever.

 _Apple-pie life,_ Dean had said, once. _Promised Sammy._

But as she was saying:

The arsenal.

It was a problem, to keep in the car. For one, they needed the boot for other things. Bags, toys, you name it. The false bottom was smart, it worked, but it made the trunk shallow. Plus, it’s just…

It leaves Lisa antsy. It’s not an unreasonable fear, that he might hear of some people getting murdered and take off at a moment’s notice. And it’s not _fair,_ because he _should._ If they didn’t have the kids –

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Dean made a promise to have _the apple-pie life,_ and he does enjoy it. His daughter means _everything_ to him, she can see it in his eyes. But he feels guilty. By keeping a promise to Sam, by sticking with Lisa, by being the best damned father she’s ever met –

He’s letting people die.

People he could save.

“When’s Rosie’s birthday?” Lisa asks. Dean shrugs. “I don’t actually know,” He admits, quietly, sounding – well, guilty. Frustrated, guilty. Upset and a little angry.

If Lisa could find ‘Athena’, she’d smack her ‘round the head.

“she was ‘about a year old’ when Bobby found her,” Dean tells Lisa, slowly, “Which was… god, I don’t know. Jesus, I –“ He shakes his head. “She was conceived in ’07,” He says. “But… I saw Athena a lot that year. I don’t know… which time it was.”

He frowns.

“It doesn’t really add up,” He continues, quietly. “The timing. I think maybe even Athena had no idea how old she was. Hells, she could be anybody’s kid. I don’ even know if she was Athena’s, bitch coulda lied. Just that she’s mine. Three paternity tests confirm it.”

Lisa nods, slowly.

“… Should we get her to choose a birthday?” She asks. None of this is normal, white-picket-fence, 2.5 kids. But, hell. They’re a couple, aren’t they? And they have two kids. Live in suburbia. Close enough, right?

“God,” Dean laughs, shakes his head. “Yeah, fuck it. Why not?”

“’07, right?” Lisa says.

“Yep,” Dean nods.

“So… four?”

“About,” Dean agrees.

“I thought she was older,” Lisa admits.

Dean smiles, small, proud. “She’s smart,” He says. “Chip off the old block, and I mean her mom. Athena was like,” Dean snaps his fingers. “Einstein or some shit. Bitch had a competence kink, but. Dunno what she saw in me.” He scoffs. “Who knows? Maybe she pulls that shit with a hunter every year.”

“I know what she saw in you,” Lisa says. “You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

Dean scoffs, again. He takes a drink from his beer. “Sam was the smart one,” He says, roughly. “ _Stanford._ I got a GED. See the difference?”

“You _had_ to,” Lisa says, quietly. “Who else would have been around for Sam, if you went off to college?”

Dean stays quiet.

“You could,” Lisa hesitates, “You could do stuff _now,_ you know. I know – I know you think, ‘bit late for that?’ but, people do it all the time.”

“Fuckin’ mature students, I know,” Dean sighs. He scratches his chin. “Maybe,” He considers.

“There’s a community college you could take classes at,” Lisa says. “No commitment or rock-solid ID required.”

Dean hums. He looks a little less reticent.

“Plus, there’s four of us now,” She sighs. “And we could use the extra income. And Dean Campbell has no qualifications, so job wise...”

Dean sighs. “Shit, yeah,” His lips twist. “I’m good with cars,” He says.

“The kids on the block love you,” Lisa says, “After what happened. And you’re a trained fighter, could open – some sort of classes in something. Babysitting, teaching, or what have you. Mechanic. You’ve got options. Lots of ‘em.” She grins behind her glass of wine. “And if you weren’t dead a bit of male modelling could work, too.”

Dean laughs. “I am handsome,” He agrees, smugly, and she swats him on the arm lightly, laughing too.

* * *

Athena isn’t _supposed_ to be here. In fact, she hadn’t much planned on it. But with her (admitted) favourite daughter running amok with _Perseus Jackson_ then, well, she must find distraction somewhere.

And – well, Dean’s stunt outside Camp Half-Blood had been a bit embarrassing. So perhaps Athena had been reticent to look in on him and – _Rose Taylor Dean…_ really now? Athena should have left a name on that note - her daughter.

What she finds is…

Pleasant. Surprisingly so. Her daughter, upon a quick scan, has not got Dyslexia. Somewhat of an annoyance, though thankfully it doesn’t mean she’ll be incapable of understanding her true language. It’ll just be harder, like it is for any mortal to learn a language. She has ADHD, however. The mortals haven’t yet diagnosed her. Good.

Athena poses as the librarian, occasionally. To observe. Lisa Braeden is a good enough substitute mother, she decides, reluctantly. She is decidedly protective, which could be a mild annoyance once Rose reaches eleven, as it was for Sally Jackson – though in that case, Athena thinks suspiciously, Poseidon was grateful Sally couldn’t let her son go to camp due to the woman’s own vices, damned oath breaker he is – however, for now, as her child is young still. Four. Her new parents are bad at maths. Mostly. Dean, not as much as he pretends, and Lisa has a surprising talent with statistics.

To be fair, they don’t know she was conceived the first night Athena was left alone with Dean’s mind, a bright, beautiful thing. The shell had had human intercourse with the man while Athena was off elsewhere, preparing for – other things. And then she’d returned, combined their… well, it was hard to explain in mortal terminology, but combined _them,_ her lack of DNA, his DNA, with her and his… essence, she supposes, though she dislikes the lack of scientific accuracy in the term.

The point is. It had been… late 2007. October. She was born nine months later. Athena may have – deliberately made herself look bad in the note, made inconsistencies in the timeline. But – she’d had to. Athena doesn’t birth children the mortal way. They emerge more mature, older. Take less time to create.

When she gave Rose Taylor ( _not_ Dean, for father’s sake-) to Bobby, she _had_ been a year old. In terms of her mortal body, she was at the maturity of a year-old baby. That was what mattered.

Chronologically speaking, it was different. But – she is four years old. Nearly five. Even if she’s only barely three.

* * *

“Hey, Little Dean!” ‘Little Dean’ scowls, affronted, probably, by the ‘Little’. But she brightens at who shouted it, one Laura Voss, and scarpers on over to her friend.

They’re in the park. Lisa arrived, found a couple parents so she doesn’t have to stand around awkwardly alone for a few hours, and then let Rosie and Ben off to play with their friends.

“Ah, kids,” Karen Sommers shakes her head with a smile. “Would you end up having to triple-barrel it?”

Interesting segue.

Lisa winces.

Marriage is _not_ on the table, she knows that much. And not because they don’t like each other, or, hells (damnit, stop picking things up from the Deans – and, damn, but shouldn’t she be telling Rosie not to say things like that? Since apparently that stuff is actually _real._ Oh, she’s such a bad role model) don’t _love_ each other, because they do. Of a sort, they do. The sex is certainly enjoyable, when they can find a moment to actually have any (kids in the house are kind of a ‘let’s not’ for the both of them, so its on sleepovers only, which are – thankfully – at least not a once in a blue moon sort of thing, thank god Rosie’s a friendly kid and Ben’s got his little group from what happened last time – Lisa thinks she’s never going to think of it as anything other than ‘What Happened Last Time’ -) and it’s not like they don’t get along. They like some of the same things, and they find each other funny, and – basically – it’s not like they hate each other’s presence. It’s comfortable. Lisa’s happy, at least, and Dean is content, if not exactly _happy,_ because Lisa thinks – he can’t really be wholly happy unless Sam’s alive. And Sam’s dead.

And once Sam comes back, because, frankly, he’s died before and so has Dean, and Lisa has no illusions of this lasting – well. Once he’s back, Lisa’s just… not sure.

Maybe if Rosie wasn’t in the picture she would be. She’d know. Dean would leave. He’d leave with Sam, and she’d probably never see him again, with the same certainty she had last time. And then – Sam would die again. Probably. Maybe. This is the sort of thing that feels like a cycle.

But.

Rosie.

So: Lisa winces. But she doesn’t protest the idea of marrying him. Lisa can think of worse people to marry than Dean Winchester, ignoring the whole legally-dead-criminal thing. Really, that’s the main issue. She can’t marry a fake identity. Campbell isn’t his name.

“I don’t know,” Lisa says. “I mean, Dean Dean?”

Karen laughs. “I see your point,” She muses. “It’s a real coincidence, though, right?”

“Real,” Lisa agrees, smile tight. She’s a decent enough liar. Lots of things in her past required it. But, uh. This is different. She’s housing a fugitive, and she has to keep all these people none-the-wiser.

It’s hard. Karen’s husband is a cop.

“It’s nice to see him around again,” Karen says, cheerfully. “And he’s good with the kids, which is a relief. Thanks again for Saturday – I _cannot_ believe the nerve of some companies, I really can’t-“

And she’s off. Lisa smiles. Karen’s a nice woman, really. Well-rounded. A little oblivious, which is useful.

Lisa wishes they hadn’t already settled on Dean Campbell. If they pretended dean was dean’s last name and he just went by it because he had a horrible first name…

Oh, hey. He changed his name from Campbell Dean to Dean Campbell. That could work. Lisa considers this. She’ll bring it up with him at home later.

… God, they’ve gotten domestic _fast._ Not that Lisa wasn’t already domestic. She’s worked hard on that, since learning about Ben growing inside her. Lisa has worked to be domestic. To be a mother, with a good job, a nice house in a pleasant, safe neighbourhood, that is domestic. Happy. Healthy. It’s more that – Dean. It’s not that… no, it kind of is. Dean isn’t the stereotypical domestic sort. And they aren’t quite that, she thinks, exactly. Except Dean does the grocery shopping, and he cooks because, honestly, Lisa’s never been that good. Dean provides – Lisa guesses – what he provided Sam, when they were kids. Lisa’s heard about John’s parenting tactics, and she could say with decisive judgement that they weren’t _good,_ but they were… all John could really do, save send his kids to boarding school as soon as was possible. And then, even then, they’d have the summers, and the people targeting the Winchesters, so…

It wasn’t easy, Lisa thinks. She kind of understands, but she approves a lot less. Dean’s defensive about it.

Being brought up like a soldier, Lisa knows, has its tolls.

But – god, that was a distraction – domestic. Dean is _domestic._ Like he probably was with Sam. Food. Comfort. Money. Things John left for Dean to do, while John did the big stuff. Hunt monsters.

It’s telling. It also helps to know how Dean got to be so good with corralling a bunch of children around. It helps that they think he’s cool, and that a few years ago – damn, _years –_ he saved their lives. _Kind of like batman!_ One kid said, and Dean had looked like it was Christmas for a split second, then just awkwardly proud.

Dean didn’t get much of a childhood himself. Lisa thinks he’s made it a sort of semi-subconscious mission that all kids he comes across get to make the most of theirs. Duties of a big brother father-figure. Lisa sighs.

“Something the matter, hon?” Karen asks. Her hair’s still done in a perm, like it’s the eighties. She’s barely thirty-five.

“Nothing,” Lisa says, smiling. She watches Ben play soccer with the other kids. He’s safe. He’s happy. And he’s happy and safe because – in part – of Dean.

Without Dean, he’d be dead. It’s a sobering thought.

It’s why the arsenal’s migrated to being kind of… everywhere. Safe from little kids’ reaches, of course, _of course,_ but. If a monster gets in the house? There’s something in each room you can use.

Just in case.

Because – really – they’re both a little paranoid.

“He looks happier, you know,” Karen says, softly. “If you don’t mind me saying.”

“No, not at all,” Lisa says.

“Was Dean…?”

“No,” Lisa admits, shrugging one shoulder. “But does it matter?”

“No,” Karen says, firmly. “Y’ve a lovely fam’ly, Lisa. Hon, don’ let anyone ever tell y’ anythin’ else, just ‘cause it’s diff’ren’ t’most.”

Lisa’s lips quirk up. Karen’s accent thickens when she’s passionate about something.

“Thanks, Care,” Lisa says. Karen – Care for short, since… well, ‘Karen Caroline Sommers’, you know – smiles.

* * *

Athena is minding her own business in a _library_ when she next meets Dean Winchester. He takes one look at her stood at a bookshelf, from the _back,_ mind you, and she finds her shell shoved up against a column.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?” His voice is low, and angry, and Athena sighs mentally.

“Around,” She says, shortly. “Let go of me. We’re in public.”

“I don’t fucking _care_ that we’re in public,” Dean seethes. “You disappeared on me. And left Bobby with my fuckin’ kid. When I was _dead._ Didn’ even bother t’ name her. Jus’ said to send her to a fuckin’ _summer camp,_ what the hell’s wrong with you, lady?”

Athena sighs.

“Camp Half-Blood is where she belongs,” Athena says, simply. “ _Let go of me.”_ Athena allows, for a moment, a small amount of her power to seep into the human shell.

Dean lets go of her.

Athena brushes her shoulders, annoyance filtering through, spreading across her face in a dour expression. “I was hoping to do this later,” She says, grumpily. Then, Athena sighs. “Though, I suppose nothing _big_ is happening right now that needs my attention…”

Annabeth’s many involvements with prophecies are, thankfully, over. It is 2011. Things should be calming down, on the home front. Athena thinks… maybe she has time, now. She’d timed it all wrong – 2007 was a busy year. And then everything… it was just. Poor timing.

It was likely unfair, she thinks, to be annoyed with Dean because she herself had neglected to mention, at any point, that she was involved in a godly-scale conflict that needed her undivided attention.

Yes. Probably was. Athena sighs.

“Would ya stop that?” Dean snaps. “Should we take this outside?” Athena asks, gesturing to the door. “Libraries are not particularly apt places for difficult conversations.”

Dean scowls at her, considering. “Fine,” He snaps. “Come on.”

Dean leads her to the impala. “Be glad I was alone today,” Dean says. “Or you’d be walking.”

Athena would not be walking, but that wasn’t for him to know, just yet.

“Of course,” She says, instead, and takes shotgun. The drive is not particularly long. Lisa Braeden – and, Athena supposes, Dean Winchester’s – house sits pretty on the row, among its kind. Dean gets out, brings her inside. The house is empty.

“Spill.” Dean says. He’s looking at her dangerously. There are currently – at least – three knives on his person, and a gun shoved down the back of his trousers. Athena wishes he would just get a holster for the thing.

“What would like me to say?” Athena asks.

“Oh I don’t know,” Dean glares at her, “How about – why you abandoned our kid. Why you never said anything while I was alive. Why you think a fucking summer camp is a great place for a child to live full-time.”

“All good questions,” Athena says. “The simplest answer – the smartest answer – is the truth. I am Athena.” She waits.

Dean looks flatly at her. Athena waits.

“That’s a fucking bullshit answer,” Dean says, dangerously. “What, just because – because you’re _you_ you think you can get away with this shit? Get away with being out of her life? Just like that? Because you’re _Athena?”_

Athena sighs. Pinches the bridge of her nose. “Think, Dean Winchester,” She says. “You are not an unintelligent man. I am _Athena.”_

Dean’s brow furrows. Athena sighs. She sheds the shell.

A gun is immediately pointed at her forehead. Athena’s just glad she remembered to conceal her true form. The shell is on the floor, dazed. It stands and looks around, hollow fabricated movements. Athena gave it no direction. She waves a hand, and it dissipates on the wind.

“What the _fuck?”_ Dean looks where her shell had just been. “What – the fuck are you? Some kind of – “ His jaw works. “Not a demon,” He mutters, glaring at her, eyes assessing. “Clearly not one of the dicks with wings – I see no wings.” He presses his lips together.

 _Dicks with wings._ Athena suppresses amusement. **_Apt_**.

“Athena,” He says. It is not addressing her, just a thought announced out-loud. Sounding it out. His brows furrow further. Athena clasps her hands, and waits, patiently.

She thought the ancient Greek armour would give it away a bit more, but…

“Goddess of wisdom,” Dean continues, slowly. “Battle strategy. Crafts.”

What a _simplification._ And not even a complete list! Athena lets out an aggravated sound. “Goddess of Wisdom, yes, _Strategy –_ all of it _,_ crafts, correct, along with - the arts, mathematics, civilization, skill, and defensive warfare.” Athena straightens her shoulders. “I am an _Olympian,_ Dean Winchester. It should not be that hard to parse out.”

“You’re a _Pagan Goddess,”_ Dean says, eyes widening. His gun lowers. At least he realises that would do very little.

“Yes,” Athena nods. “And I chose you, Dean Winchester.” She quirks up the corner of her mouth. “Because you fall under my purview.”

Dean blinks.

“You’re a warrior,” Athena clarifies. “Intelligent, protective. Crafty, a good mechanic. Your repurposed Walkman was clever,” She smiles. “You’re a skilled fighter, in many areas of combat, with different guns and other weapons, capable at hand-to-hand. It’s appealing. A solid, sharp, brilliant mind, of which to combine with my foundation, can – and did – create a child of limitless potential.” She tilts her head. “As are my calculations for the mortals I choose.” Athena tilts her head the other way, and then thinks – well, why not? People have been breaking rules all over the place the past few years.

And, technically, none of this is under Zeus’ jurisdiction anyway. Plus, Athena never did have that rebellious child phase… the one Ares never grew out of.

Honestly, Athena’s not entirely sure why Zeus threw Apollo down and not Ares. He’s practically been begging for being thrown of Olympus for years, the way he’s acted.

Her brother is an idiot. But then, Athena thinks, also not. Not _really._

Anyway.

“I just happened to like you the most, recently,” Athena says, shrugging. “However – I was busy. My timing was… perhaps a little miscalculated.”

“I _died,”_ Dean says, aggravated. “A _little?”_

“Oh, no, I expected that,” Athena says, not wanting to give him any false ideas. “I was just expecting to be able to be more involved. Help her get to camp, if she needed it. However, I was – indisposed.”

Kronos, and then – _Minerva._ But… she’s better now. She must be. The statue is back in Greek hands.

“There was – two wars,” Athena admits. “In the past few years. I… ended up busier than expected faster than I’d calculated. It was – poor judgement on my part. Rose Taylor –“ She grimaces –“ _Dean_ should have been delivered to you in a golden…” Athena sighs, stops herself. “But it doesn’t matter how it should have gone.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Dean agrees. He looks a little less angry though. Athena wonders if the recent conflicts show in her countenance.

“You would have not liked to see me, recently,” Athena offers. “I was… mentally unwell. Two vastly different versions of my godly being fighting against each other. It was unpleasant. And unsafe. It is likely a good thing I forgot about Rose, for a few years,” Athena tells him. “Because I very well could have been a threat to her life.”

Dean’s gun rises again.

“Are you now?” He demands.

“Only by way of creating her existence,” Athena says. “A demi-god’s life is never safe. It is… usually – I have heard it put, ‘it would be a kindness if you were never born’. Demi-gods have… low life expectancy. It is… required by their nature. Heroes. Fatal flaws. Prophecies. Monsters.” Athena shrugs, lightly. “Gods. Our children… by the ancient laws, our children are our arms. They fight for we cannot.”

Dean looks…. Athena is not sure, she admits. Emotions were never exactly her forte. She thinks it might be somewhere close to distraught, though perhaps not that extreme.

“What happens if she doesn’t got to the camp?” Dean demands.

“Properly?” She corrects, amused. “I know she went. It was quite the display – I was rather shocked to see you walking around with your soul intact, given your demonic deal.” Athena shakes her head. “But – it’s like all the great Greek tragedies. And ‘mythology’. Bringing the dead back to life in our world is… not well-looked-upon, but more commonplace than you’d think.”

“What happens?” Dean repeats.

Athena sighs. “Nothing good,” She says. “Monsters will start to smell her, as she gets older. Demigod is particularly appetising to their ilk. Do you know many Greek legends?”

Dean grimaces.

“I suggest you do some research,” Athena says, simply. “Though, don’t trust everything in the books. Centaurs aren’t quite so awful, here. At least, the ‘Party Ponies’ are…. Well, frankly I think you’d like them.” She looks amused. “Still. It’s good to look. Gorgons. Hydras. Lots of things will be out to eat her, or worse.” Athena presses her lips together.

Thankfully, they won’t have to worry about Arachne and her children for a while.

“Some have a particular grudge against me,” Athena admits, “And they will transfer that onto Rose. As for – well – why she should go… if you want to be able to kill those creatures, you need a weapon that can do so. And celestial bronze is frankly impossible to get in the mortal world.” Athena wrinkles her nose. “You can also have weapons made from _other_ materials, though I don’t know why you would.”

Ugh. _Gold._ Why would you make a weapon out of _gold?_

“Specific weaknesses,” Dean says. “Anything else?”

“Celestial bronze doesn’t hurt humans,” Athena says. “And also probably not _your_ monsters, either. So it’s a perfectly good weapon for a child to carry. Additionally, the Mist should be explained.”

Dean sighs, shoves his gun back into his trousers. Athena winces.

“Could you please get a holster for that?” She asks.

Dean raises an eyebrow at her. Athena sighs.

“The Mist,” She says, “Is like… the expression, ‘pulling the wool over someone’s eyes’, I suppose,” Athena furrows her brows. “It doesn’t affect all mortals – your brother could see through it – and I think you can as well. It doesn’t affect children… I think for the reasons it doesn’t affect you. Some mortals are just born with Sight, other mortals are simply just more accepting of the unusual. If you believe in ghosts and demons and vampires and werewolves, what is a cyclops?” She tilts her head. “So, I suppose Lisa could probably see as well, along with any old Hunter. A lot of people can’t, though – religious people tend to only see their own things. Hmm.” Athena tilts her head the other way. “No matter. The point is – the Mist covers up the unnatural. It hides it from mortal sight. A dagger in a child’s hand might look like a pen, if you’re lucky. A steak knife if you’re not – it depends. Each person’s ‘luck’ with The Mist is simply that. Some can control it,” Athena continues, “But Rose is unlikely to be able to.”

A pause. Athena waits.

“That’s it?” Dean says.

“Yes,” Athena nods. “So. When she turns eleven should be the best time to send her to camp-“

“Hold up,” Dean warns. “Never said I was gonna.”

“Do you not want her to live?” Athena asks. “Send her to camp, Dean Winchester. I’ll be watching to see you do.”

Dean grimaces. “Great. Another stalker.”

Athena smiles at him. “Would it make you feel better to know I’ve been watching since Stanford?”

Dean blinks rapidly at her, but Athena is gone from one moment to the next, before he can respond.

“Fuck,” Dean says. “Fucking _Gods._ Jesus. What a bitch.”

(Athena will let that slide. For now.)

* * *

“A demi-god?” Lisa thought she’d hit the limit. But – no. Seems not. There was weirder stuff out there than what Dean had already told her.

God. God _s._ Should she start saying Gods now? Hells made more sense, now she thought about it. But should she start saying _Gods_ now? Since he wasn’t the only one, and all.

“Yeah,” Dean says. He takes a drink from his beer. Lisa grabs one for herself, because…

Damn.

Rose. Half of a _goddess._ Jesus.

“Well,” Lisa says. “Shit, damn it.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at her.

“Ben,” She says. “He can’t go, can he?”

Dean grimaces.

“Kid’s gonna be livid,” Dean cringes. “Great.”

Lisa rubs her forehead. God, her life is weird.

“Are we sure she should go?” Lisa asks.

“Not full year,” Dean says, sharply, “I don’t even want her there all summer – who fuckin’ knows what they’re puttin’ in those kids’ heads, with what Godly Bitch was saying –“

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t call me that,” Athena says. She places her goblet down on the table. Lisa jumps, beer sloshing over her hand out of the bottle. Dean just looks annoyed.

“And they aren’t putting anything in our children’s heads,” Athena continues. “They’re training them to survive.”

“And you think I can’t do that?” Dean says, folding his arms, looking unimpressed.

“Of course, you can,” Athena says. “It’s part of why I chose you. When she’s not at camp, she’s safe. When she’s at camp, she’s safe. I’ve had many unsafe children, over the years.”

“How many fuckin’ kids-“

“Before you say anything,” Athena says, “Recall that I am a _virgin_ goddess.”

Dean’s expression flickers confusedly.

“A shell,” She waves her hand, “And some implanted memories. I wasn’t present for the occasion.”

Lisa blinks. “Huh,” She says.

“I was born from my father’s thigh,” Athena says, amused. “Or brain, depending on the legend.”

“Which one is it?” Dean asks, narrowed eyed.

Athena just smiles. Takes a sip of nectar.

Dean sighs.

“So,” Lisa says, “I’m guessing – this isn’t exactly a social call?”

“Just making sure you understood,” Athena says. “Eleven. Camp Half-Blood. I suppose you can drive her there; we can forgo the usual tradition. Alone, however, is how she must enter. You are –” She glances at Dean, “hm. Mostly mortals. And regardless, you are of the wrong… denomination?” She smiles, amused. “So, you shouldn’t even be interacting with me, anyway, let alone the Camp.”

“The usual tradition?” Dean asks, suspicious.

“She would make her way there with a satyr,” Athena says, simply. “Likely meeting up with other demigods along the way. Some would die, in all probability. It is not my preferred outcome.”

Dean’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“Or mine,” He says, tightly controlled.

Athena just nods. “Good,” She says. “Now, could we _please_ discuss her name?” She asks.

“No,” Dean says. “No, she likes her name. Chose it herself.”

Athena sighs, long-sufferingly. “Fine,” She says. “ _Dean._ Really?”

“I didn’t name her,” Dean says. “No thanks to you waiting until I’d kicked it. And _you refused to name her,_ so really it’s your fault.”

Ugh. Point.

“It’s Bobby Singer’s fault,” Athena decides. It is _not_ her fault. None of _that_ is. _Rose Taylor Dean._

Awful.

Why.

Annabeth Chase is a good name, Athena thinks fondly. Malcom. George Washington. Lots – the vast majority – of her children have good names.

“Also, everyone thinks your name is Athena Dean, so,” Dean continues, “That’s why it works.”

Athena grimaces. She supposes that is fine, if annoying.

“Fine,” She sighs. Athena gives them a nod. “If the monsters start congregating too much,” Athena hesitates, “I can give a gift. But only call me once,” She presses her lips together. “And when you do, do it _properly._ Food. Fire. Prayer.” She narrows her eyes at Dean. “Understood?”

“Crystal clear.” He snipes.

“Uh,” Lisa looks at Athena. Athena looks back at her, expectantly.

“You said – we shouldn’t be talking to you,” Lisa starts, slowly, then halts. Athena nods, prompting. “So are you – breaking some… cosmic rule?” The woman hesitates, then ploughs on, “Ah-em, is there – going to be… backlash?”

Ah.

Probably not.

“No,” Athena says, tilting her head. “It’s more like… a line in the sand. It’s sand. Just wipe it down and draw it again.”

“Makes sense to me,” Dean says. Lisa nods, placated.

Athena should probably check if this is bad or… _Bad._

“I must return to Olympus,” Athena says.

“Mount Olympus?”

Athena rolls her eyes.

“No,” She says, “The Empire State Building. Pray to me when you have need.”

Athena disappears.

“Pray to me when you have need,” Dean mimics, annoyed. “God, I had sex with that?”

Lisa stifles a laugh. “Actually,” Lisa says, “You had sex with a shell? She wasn’t present.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” Dean pauses. “Awesome. I _didn’t_ have sex with that. Thank god.” He pauses. “Thank… not… gods?”

Lisa shakes her head. She yawns, behind her hand. “God…s…” She shrugs. “It’s late. Sleep?”

“Sleep,” Dean agrees. “Pancakes in the morning?”

Oh, _yay._ Dean’s pancakes. Lisa drags him upstairs so the morning can come quicker.

* * *

Lisa feels _scared,_ when she sees Sam. She knows why.

This is the beginning of the end, she thinks. Dean declines going with him. But Lisa knows – Sam’s back. They hadn’t had anything happen in _months,_ and as soon as Sam’s back?

(The months thing is because of the Greek shit that keeps popping up – but it turns out blowing them up is pretty effective, so they’ll take their losses on that bit of vandalism.)

As soon as he’s back – this happens. Djinn, or whatever the fuck.

Athena appears, to her left.

“Send my daughter to camp,” She says, voice tightly controlled. She has her eyes, unnervingly, on Sam. She looks…

She looks as nervous as Lisa feels.

“ _Hells,”_ Athena curses, for a brief moment looking vaguely amused, “Send _Ben_ to camp. Go _with_ them. Move to _England.”_ Athena shakes her head. “I don’t know where any of this is going,” She says, simply. “And I don’t like it. But the Winchester Brothers are in the thick of it.”

She hesitates.

“Azazel,” She murmurs. Lisa feels the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

“I don’t know…” Athena’s lips twist. “I don’t have the _context.”_ She looks frightening, in that moment. Lisa can feel – something, pressure against her eardrums, like Athena’s power had momentarily leaked out into her voice. The Goddess’ eyes darken.

“Keep an eye on them,” She says, sharply. “The Righteous Man…” She mumbles. “Why –” Athena’s eyes widen, and then she disappears.

“What was she saying to you?” Dean says, gruffly, worry in his eyes.

“Azazel,” Lisa says. “The Righteous Man?” She shakes her head. “I think she’s… confused. I don’t think – I don’t think she knows any more than we do, really. Just – names. Words. No… context.”

“But she knows about it,” Dean grits his teeth.

“You can call Sam,” Lisa says, “Can’t you? Tell him… what Athena knows-“

“And then explain my kid’s a demi-god?” Dean tilts his head. “To a hunter?”

“To your _brother,”_ Lisa stresses. Dean’s shoulders are tense. Lisa thinks – he’s a _great_ hunter. One of the best. But he’s an _amazing_ dad, and she doesn’t want to lose him to that life again.

Lisa, she has found, is selfish.

Lisa takes a breath.

“It’s Ben’s birthday soon,” She says, instead of the world-endangering topics at hand. Something simple. Normal.

Safe.

“Party planning?” Dean says, with a grimace, but his shoulders fall, his posture relaxes. Lisa smiles. “You know it.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> this was self indulgent
> 
> probably a one-shot series idk
> 
> also no Dean POV in this instalment sorry guys it's a girl's fest over here and that's how i wanted it to be 
> 
> it's five in the morning have it please take it from me (i don't mean like steal it just like... read it) enjoy it whatever tell me what you think? thank you!


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